


Meet a Small Death

by authoresswithoutwords



Series: Small Death [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Creature Stiles Stilinski, Evil Deaton, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Minor Character Death, Scott is a Bad Werewolf, Stiles Stilinski Leaves Beacon Hills, Stiles Stilinski is Pushed Out of the Pack, Temporary Character Death, The Pack Being Idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-08 00:31:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoresswithoutwords/pseuds/authoresswithoutwords
Summary: So, fighting monsters again and again, and being in a pack full of werewolves, is not exactly the recipe for a healthy human being to grow old. It actually only was a matter of time before Stiles fell. It may have been surprising, but no surprise.What was a surpise is that Stiles woke up again.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is not only a complete mess, but also my first published fanfic in English, my first work for Steter and the longest piece of writing I've ever completed.  
> Enjoy!

“Stiles!”

The shout rang through the clearing. Everything stopped for a single moment. Everyone looked at the only human fighting in a battle he should not even think of. They saw him fall, blood streaming down the side of his head, down the neck, staining his flannel shirt, trailing down his chest to join the other, far larger blood stain on his belly. 

If this was a movie, there’d be slow-motion. There would be heart-breaking, slow music. There would be close-ups of everyone’s faces, twisted in anguish and grief. They would shout his name, or a loud “No!”, or let out a wordless scream of pain and disbelief. The enemies would stop for a second, allowing one to storm to their fallen friend, embracing him, trying to shake him awake, collapse on his chest, crying in denial.

But this was not a movie.

Stiles fell. There was a shout of his name. He landed. The enemies – a pair of chupacabras – refocused their energies on the others. The battle continued.

Justified in their fury and bloodlust, the pack attacked more ferociously. The male chupacabra – longer claws, faster – was ripped in half. The female – poisonous bite, stronger – managed to break Jackson’s arm before Derek separated her head from the body with well-aimed claws.

Only now, the pack convened around their dead member. They stared at his face, forever caught in surprise and pain, the dull eyes, the bloodied form. Finally, Allison reached forward to close his eyes.

Peter grabbed her wrist before she could make contact. Scott awoke from his stunned desperation, growling, “Peter! We’re trying to honour Stiles and mourn! You obviously don’t get that, so leave us alone!”

Unlike him, Peter didn’t react. He canted his head, but didn’t let go. Suddenly, he demanded, “Bite him.”

“Peter.” Derek put a hand on his shoulder, trying to sound kind and understanding, but only succeeding in bringing out a condescending tone. “Peter, it’s too late. He’s gone.”

“He’s not dead! Listen! His heart is still beating!”

“Peter…”

Derek attempted to pull him away, but failed.

“I hear it, too!”, Scott shouted, a smile clearing the tears from his face. His pack mates looked at him, hope shining from their wet eyes.

“Then bite him!”, Peter pressed.

“No, Stiles…” Scott swallowed heavily. “Stiles wouldn’t want to be a werewolf. I know it. He’d rather die than be a monster. We need to get him to a hospital!”

The werewolves all touched Stiles, draining his pain, and ignored the protesting Peter to carry Stiles to Melissa’s from where they called an ambulance.

 

\---

 

Seven operations, three puzzled doctors and four days later, Stiles opened his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Blinking to adjust to the bright lights, the white walls, the brown “no, Stiles, it is not vomit-coloured!” floor, Stiles looked around. The hospital. He groaned as he remembered the claws cutting into his flesh, twisting to evade the rips and find the heart.

Of course he’d be in a hospital.

He rubbed his eyes, already feeling the Pull.

Clenching his teeth, he lent forward to rip off all the lines and tubes and sensors connecting him to various beeping machines which started shrilling out in distress.

Quickly, now.

 

It was about 8 p.m. when the grumpy and sleepy teenagers entered the loft. Scott was already there, pacing up and down worriedly. This woke them up better than any phone call could. While it was true that Scott worried about Stiles and his condition, pacing and not sparing any attention to the pack, especially to Allison, showed that the situation had gone from bad to worst. But there were no tears, so at least it was safe to say that nothing had happened to Stiles. In a quiet hurry, everyone took their seat. Silence, uncomfortable silence, threatened to suffocate them all.

Lydia tapped her manicured finger against the small couch table. Her words were harsh, but her tone worried. “Do tell, Scott, what made you get us out of bed after hunting after the human turned coyote for the past eight hours straight.”

Jackson wrapped his arm around her and scowled at his alpha. Derek, who’d sat there with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed since the very beginning, followed Scott’s every move with his eyes. Isaac had concern written all over his face. Cora just looked grumpy. Allison seemed torn between going to Scott and staying seated.

Scott took a fortifying breath. “Stiles…” His voice broke. Clearing his throat, he started again. “Stiles has gone missing.”

A beat, then a collective scream.

“What?!”

Everyone started talking at once. Scott raised his hand to ask for silence. When that didn’t help, he started shouting which caused the others to yell their questions. Only when he roared was he able to speak again.

“Mom was doing her rounds”, Scott began, “and decided to take a look at Stiles. His bed was empty, all sensors and the IV ripped off. The machines were beeping.”

“How did no-one notice?”, asked Allison, horrified.

“Well, Mom said the bed was still warm. So maybe she missed him by a few seconds? Anyway, Mom raised an alarm. The hospital was searched. Then, they called the Sheriff. He phoned the deputies on patrol to look out for Stiles, and the Sheriff is driving around, looking for Stiles, as well.”

“When did you learn of this?”, Lydia wanted to know.

“Mom called me when they couldn’t find him in the hospital. I’ve been searching the Preserve, but haven’t found him yet. The Sheriff wasn’t lucky either. We need your help.”

“Why, pray tell”, drawled Peter who’d slunk into the loft when no-one was looking, “are we only hearing of this now?”

“Peter!”, Scott shouted, surprised, then angry. “What are you doing here?”

“Stiles included me in your little ‘Pack Texterino’”, he answered, wrinkling his nose in distaste at Stiles’ name creation. “I must say I’m hurt by you not calling me.”

“You can’t be trusted! You killed the chu- cha- chuc- the vampire thingies! Who’s to say you didn’t kidnap Stiles?”

“I’m delighted you hold me in such high esteem, but even I can only do so much while asleep in my apartment. Now, if we could get onto finding Stiles?” Sarcasm mixed with a heavy sigh. If one knew Peter well, they knew to read his words as worried. But no-one wanted to know him that well.

“If you did something to him”, Scott swore, taking a threatening step forward.

“What?” Peter raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly bitterly and relaxed against the doorpost. “You’ll grin me to Death? Please, you can’t even send the creatures that almost murdered your best friend to Him. Do learn to make more realistic threats.”

Scott looked ready to lunge at him when Lydia intervened. “As much as it pains me to say this, he’s right, Scott. Stiles is more important than you fighting a losing battle. Where in the Preserve were you?”

“Kind of a bit everywhere?”, was the hesitant answer. At Lydia’s scathing glare, Scott quickly added, “But I didn’t smell him at all!”

Peter huffed with derision. “A bit everywhere”, he repeated in a tone others would use for “pus dripping wound on my genitals”. “Have you ever heard of a search grid?”

“Peter!”, Derek bellowed. “Shut up!”

“Now, now, dear nephew-“

“Stop arguing! Stop talking!”, Lydia interjected. “We must find Stiles!”

Jackson seemed to really want to disagree with that, but stopped himself after a quick look at his girlfriend. In a calm tone, she continued, “Did you smell the hospital, if he left on his own or was kidnapped? If yes, by what or whom?”

“No, I didn’t! That’s a great idea, let’s-!”, Scott shouted in joy.

“Won’t work. Too many smells”, Derek grumbled.

“Did you ask Sheriff Stilinski where he’s looking?”

“Of course! He said he’d drive through Beacon Hills!” Scott was indignant.

“Also the abandoned buildings?”, Cora asked. “Old factories, train stations” – with a look to her brother that told them of her exasperation after finding out about his living situation before the loft – “banks?” This, she said in a bitter tone. “Or only the town where people would expect to see a police car? And is he searching the abandoned buildings or only driving around them? It would be much simpler and faster if we had someone who can smell Stiles from the window.”

“I’ll ask right away! And then I’ll send someone to him!” Scott patted his pockets, looking for his phone.

Isaac sighed. “Don’t bother, I’ll call.”

“Did you even think before you ran out?”, Lydia asked, depreciatively.

“Of course! It’s just… Where would Stiles be?”

“Me? I’m right here.”

Everyone jumped at the sudden voice, eyes lighting up, claws coming out.

Standing on the stairs was Stiles, fragile, pale, brown-eyed Stiles.

“Stiles! Where were you, dude?”, Scott demanded, running toward him with his arms opened for a hug.

Derek quickly stood and held Scott back while Cora stared at him in disbelief. “There shows up a thing that looks like Stiles and you just rush toward it with no caution whatsoever?”

“Let me go! It’s Stiles, can’t you see it? Smell! It is Stiles!”

“It imitates Stiles!”, Derek growled.

“And very well”, Peter added in a suggestive tone, his eyes appreciating the form stood in front of them.

Several people threw him disbelieving looks, but Stiles only laughed. “Stuff it, creeperwolf, or I might blush!”

This, in turn, made Lydia huff exasperatedly, Jackson crumble about being woken up for _this_ and Derek and Cora exchange a few words in eyebrow-language. Scott shot to Stiles like a puppy wanting to be petted. Only Peter didn’t relax. “You don’t think that something that can imitate a being this well can’t also imitate behaviour or studied the target beforehand?”

“You’re right”, someone whispered into Peter’s ear. “If I wished to harm you, this would be way too easy.”

Peter stiffened. The others looked around in confusion, having seen Stiles vanish before their eyes.

The voice continued. “But don’t worry. 100% Stiles right here, dude, even if not 100% human anymore.” Suddenly Stiles shouted, standing behind the pack, not Peter, “Now I can scare you damn wolves! Payback’s a bitch! Hell yeah!”

In the fraction of a second, the pack coordinated and had Stiles wrapped in ropes tied to a chair. He didn’t resist, but almost seemed amused. One after another, the pack came forward. Lydia felt his heart and touched a few parts of his body, determining that he still was alive. Isaac lit incense to drive out any spirits possessing him. Allison sprinkled him with a mixture of herbs poisonous to different monsters. Jackson punched him to check the colour of his blood and if his pain would make him reveal fangs or something similar – and because he really wanted to hit Stiles. Derek growled at him to tell them what he was and where Stiles was. Cora recited a South-American exorcism. Stiles endured it all without speaking, but a little smirk on his face.

Peter was the only one not to move. He stood by, unimpressed. When the rest of the pack turned to him in anger, he raised his hands. “If he wanted to kill us, he’d already have sent us to Death.”

Unable to argue, but even more unwilling to admit he was right, the pack grumbled unhappily.

Soon after, the pack had gone through all their lists and exhausted all possibilities. At a loss, they exchanged looks. Stiles also took all of this in stride, but made eye contact with Peter after everything was done and casually said, “Ylvainne says hello.”

Peter paled. “Are you here for me?”

“Nah, not really my department, you know?”

“That would be reassuring if I knew what your… department is.”

“Oh, creeperwolf”, Stiles batted his lashes, “I’m where you don’t wanna go, trust me.”

“Who’s this Ylvainne?”, Derek growled at Peter.

“You’ll meet her someday, nephew, don’t worry”, Peter murmured, distracted. “Now, when did you meet Death, sweetheart?”

The pack gasped. “Stiles never died!”, Scott protested. “He’s alive and besides, he would have told me!”

Peter snorted. “Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night.”

Stiles smiled brightly and kindly. “Why don’t you free the Stiles and I’ll tell you what happened the last…”, he trailed off, uncertain, his smile disappearing.

“You were only missing for a couple hours, Stiles”, Scott said, trying and failing to be reassuring.

Instead, Peter said calmly, “Only about four days.”

“What! You’re kidding! Why so short? What am I, some kind of genius?”

Stiles looked at him, full of wonder. Peter shrugged, then smirked suggestively. Before he could say anything, Lydia, who had a shrewd look on her face, asked, “What happened when you were in a coma?”

“Okay, that’s a long story and this position is really uncomfortable.”

Begrudgingly, Derek loosened the ropes, throwing mistrustful glances at Stiles and Peter. Stiles took his time standing up and stretching before he walked over to the armchair. Peter watched the progress of his shirts up and down his chest – and the naked strip of skin they revealed – attentively.

Stiles smirked and winked at him. He sat down on the chair and waited until everyone had gathered, Jackson grumbling about how he didn’t want to know, Scott throwing him hurt looks, Lydia looking disgusted as she studied her nails, Derek glaring at the room in general, Cora yawning, Isaac throwing nervous glances at everyone in the room, Peter leaning on the wall closest to both a window and Stiles. “Do start at your leisure, sweetheart.”

Finally becoming serious, Stiles sighed, interrupting Scott who had angrily turned to Peter. “I guess I should start at the beginning.” He smiled ruefully. “It all started back on the lacrosse field and with Gerard Argent.”

Allison looked like she wanted to interrupt, but a look from Stiles made her sink into herself, quieted and ashamed. Peter had a murderous expression on his face. He growled, “I should have-“

“Hey, let me tell my story, yeah?”, Stiles asked, not seeming at all like he’d minded the interruption.

Peter grumbled, “At least he’s dead now.”

“Hey!”, Scott shouted. “How can you say that? And with Allison in the room!”

Lydia had connected the dots and spoke at a pause of Scott’s rant. “You disappeared from the field, and when you picked me up, you had a split lip. And Gerard – oh God.”

By the horrified expression on Isaac’s face, he understood as well. Even Jackson looked a bit discomfited. Cora and Derek glared and eyebrowed a bit more than usual. Only Scott was clueless.

Stiles shrugged helplessly. “That’s my life. Well, technically that was my- You know, doesn’t matter. So, that night, Gerard Argent grabbed me off the lacrosse field. There was some bantering, some beating, some baiting, the usual. Important is that I was in a basement with Gerard Argent, Erica, Boyd and three other hunters when I went to Death.”

Allison started crying. Scott finally understood, but still tried to protest. “Not possible! You’re alive! You didn’t die! And you never said anything!”

“When I died”, Stiles ignored the sobs and Scott, “I was tossed outside. But a few minutes after I was left alone, I woke up again. My brain fabricated some story about being let go as a message or something. As if Gerard would let someone leave alive.” He smiled bitterly. “Anyway, before my brief meeting with Death, I managed to turn off the electricity keeping Erica and Boyd captive. So, after an hour and gathering their strength, they got free and up the stairs where they ran into Chris. Good person that he is, he helped them. As you know, they fled right into the arms of the alpha pack. I kept on living normally, searching for them, the whole Ms Blake spiel, everything. Then, James Kingston was killed.”

“Who?”, asked Isaac. He was not the only one who did not know this name; everyone was confused. What did that unknown someone have such a huge importance for?

Allison tearfully answered, “A hunter who worked closely with Gerard and did terrible things. He was ripped apart by werewolves. They were later put down.”

“James Kingston, one of the three hunters in the basement. And don’t say that the wolves were rightfully killed!”

“They were! They killed Jamie!”

“What would you do, dear Allison”, Stiles said, ice in his voice, “to the man who stole your new-born baby from the hospital and _burned him alive_?”

Isaac started crying as well. Derek growled. Cora showed her sharp, sharp teeth. Allison shook her head and repeated, “No… Jamie would never… No…”

Peter, on the other hand, smiled broadly. “So ends Jay the Slay. May he rot in Hell.”

“He does”, Stiles hissed sharply, then took a moment to calm down. “A month later, Bianca White went to Death. She also was a hunter from the basement. Car accident. Paul Fitzgerald, twenty years old, first hunt me, couldn’t handle the guilt and killed himself a week after his next hunt. He had to kill a ten-year-old who turned feral because Gerard burned his pack down the day before.”

“Now you’re lying!”, Scott shouted. “Gerard’s fatally ill in a retirement home!”

“So you’d like to think”, Stiles retorted, a bitter curve to his mouth. “But since I said, ‘He’s a psychopath who gets off on killing people’ and you said, ‘I’ll let him go, he’s a harmless old man’, he’s killed thirty-six people! Twelve of them were children!”

Scott continued to deny it. Allison burst out into fresh tears. Even Cora’s eyes were starting to look suspiciously moist. Stiles ignored the alpha and continued, this time with great satisfaction. “Gerard was soon after tortured and killed with a majority of his hunters. That was a good day.” He stared into nothing, a content smile on his face. Peter cleared his throat. Stiles snapped out of his thoughts and turned solemn. “A too-short time later, Erica and Boyd lost their lives.” He paused a moment. “All the people who were in the basement when I met Death had now gone to Him, as well, so the next phase of the transformation began. I had to die and be brought back to life. Thanks to Deaton’s totally unnecessary ritual, that happened as well. Then, I had to save a few beings and kill a few beings. This being Beacon Hills, hell-mouth extraordinaire, it didn’t take long.”

“Kill a few things? Stiles, how could you?!”, Scott screamed, full of righteous fury.

“Scotty, buddy, you were there when I killed those three gnomes. And the wendigo. Or when I set those ghosts free and sent them to the afterlife. And besides them, I killed a lot of flies, bugs, mosquitos, just like everyone else. Their life force reached a certain point, same happened with the people I saved, so I reached the next stage. I had to violently go to Death. When I was in a ‘coma’, I learned all that and some more.”

“But what are you?”, Isaac sniffed, tears drying slowly.

“I’m a Death.”

“Don’t you mean reaper? Or you could be a Shinigami”, Lydia objected.

“No, I mean a Death. I mean, a small Death, but a Death never-the-less.”

Slowly, as if talking to a child, Lydia said, “There is only one death. Maybe you misunderstood something?”

“Maybe you misunderstood something”, Stiles retorted. “I am a Death. There are no reapers or Shinigami or whatever else you found. Only Death.”

Lydia huffed and stood up, unable to believe that Stiles actually had contradicted her. “Come, Jackson, I need to look this up.”

With a haughty look back, she left. Jackson followed her, grumbling about being woken up for nothing. After a short silence, Peter purred, “Sweetheart, whose Death are you?”

Stiles leaned back, looking at him, smirking. “I’m a Death of Hell.”

“Hell exists?”, Cora asked.

Stiles nodded. “There’s Hell, Heaven and Purgatory. How did it go? Heaven is for the righteous, Purgatory is for the beasts and Hell is for the arseholes of this world.”

Peter snorted. “Is that the official definition?”

Stiles only raised an eyebrow.

Shaking his head, Peter dropped the topic. Instead, he explained, “Hell is for those who like causing pain, forcing others and killing.”

“I visited Gerard there. He was not amused”, Stiles interjected. “But it’s not, like, fire and brimstone. It’s more like a giant washing machine that cleans the soul of all stains. You’re put in there and have to relive every bad deed from the eyes of the harmed.”

Peter sighed dreamily. “I’d love to see Gerard’s face. He always did believe he did God’s work.”

Stiles smiled diabolically. “He’s gotta live through every time he caused Death or pain or ordered someone killed, raped, beaten. And then he’s gonna relive it again through the sorrow of the victims’ relatives.”

Scott was so horrified by this description that he paled drastically. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but Allison took his hand and shook her head at him. Isaac didn’t look nearly as apologetic as Scott did. Cora and Derek were a mixture of relieved and pleased.

And Peter laughed. Stiles kept his sadistic smile, his eyes far away.

Only when Isaac delicately coughed in his hand, “accidently” hitting Peter who stood a good two metres away from him, did they snap out of it. Clearing his throat, Peter continued his explanation as if nothing had happened.

“Heaven is for those who suffered and those who lived to protect and help.”

“That’s were Erica and Boyd are. And your pack, Peter, by the way, so stop worrying. Georgie tells you to stop frowning and crying. He doesn’t want you to get wrinkles.” Peter looked as if he’d been hit. He gathered himself and nodded his thanks. Cora smiled. Derek did as well. Well, the little twitches of the corners of his mouth that would be a smile on a normal person. Stiles grinned at them all, then said, “It’s like a retirement home up there. Nobody suffers, they watch Earth all day long and gossip. Like, so much! You can get into a girl’s bathroom and listen to twelve-years-olds ranting their hearts out and it’s not gonna be so extreme!”

“You would know that how?”, Isaac snarled.

Stiles began spluttering.

Scott began laughing.

Peter continued Stiles’ explanation. “When the soul has had enough time in Heaven, it can choose to be reborn into a new-born’s body.”

“That’s when everyone you know’s also there and you’re really bored.”

Peter lectured, a wistful look on his face, “There’s also the Small Heaven.”

“Everyone who died too young to really know where the soul should be going ends up there. It’s like an orphanage. Lady Death and her Deaths look over the kiddies until the souls have matured enough to be reborn.”

“Finally, there’s Purgatory”, Peter went on. “The eternal woods of beasts.”

“Supernatural kinda got that one right, surprisingly. Everyone and everything that follows their nature, knows no right or wrong, goes there. But, unlike in the show, they leave as well. And Purgatory is a realm of healing.”

“What do you mean by that?” Finally, Scott’s disgust and horror were overcome by his curiosity.

“A wendigo eats and eats until it’s send to Death. But in Purgatory, it just lives there. No hunting, no suffering, no hungering. I mean, they’re still beasts, so they rip each other to pieces all the time. Kind of a friendly greeting there? It doesn’t hurt and a bit later, you’re whole again. Gross to watch, but also kinda cool.”

“So only creatures end up there?”, asked Cora.

“Mostly, so don’t you worry ‘bout your fam. They’re all in Heaven, far as I know.”

“Mostly?”, Allison wanted to know.

“Yeah. If there’s an insane murderer, they end up there, as well. As I said, a place of healing. In a century or two, the soul’s as good as new. Same goes for feral wolves, you know?”

Allison nodded, placated. She was sure Kate had ended up there and was healing right now. Scott, on the other hand, still had concerns.

“How’s it chosen where a Death goes?”

He’d often felt that maybe Stiles was a bit too vicious, too violent. Maybe that was the reason?

All eyes turned to Stiles expectantly. He blustered a bit. “You probably think it’s something quite profound, don’t you? It’s only that the oldest Death who’d like to be reborn is replaced with a new Death.”

“That’s it?”, Isaac asked in disbelief. “No consideration of personality, not destiny, nothing?”

“Nothing at all”, Stiles agreed. “Only chance.”

“How often is there a new Death”, Derek said. He didn’t ask. Derek never asked. He apparently did not know the concept of a question.

“The requirements are pretty hard, you know? Of all the billions of people that live now, only one becomes a Death. So, about one every century? Every second? Probably? I never really asked.”

“Why so little?”, Cora wondered.

“Not taking into consideration this whole insanity with having to go to Death thrice, but only at certain times after doing certain things without even knowing about these requirements? The soul must be strong enough to withstand being a Death. It’s not so easy going out to bring in a child who was raped to Death and let the assailant go because the time has not come for him yet.”

“You had to do that?”

Seeing Stiles’ dark eyes, clearly remembering, Isaac quickly threw in another question. “How do you know where a person’s going? Is there a judge, or…?

He trailed off, uncertain.

Stiles laughed, the dark expression over his face almost seeming like imagination. “I look into their eyes and see their souls. Yeah, I know, ‘eyes are the windows to the soul’. It comes from us. Not really that complicated. Except for Peter, of course.”

“I’m flattered, darling.” Peter smiled predatorily.

“Why complicated?”, Derek demanded harshly. “He killed Laura! That’s Hell.”

“That’s Purgatory. He was feral and insane when it happened.”

“Bullshit!”

“Truth. You can’t lie to me about things like that. It’s the same as Paige’s demise not damning you to Hell.”

Derek stood abruptly and stomped outside. Cora asked who Paige was, confused about Derek’s behaviour. Stiles only told her it wasn’t his story to tell. Scott eyed him disapprovingly, asking if that really was necessary without words. Stiles pretended he hadn’t noticed.

Cora used her eyebrows to communicate the anger at Stiles’ silence. Then, she remembered, “Peter also killed before the fire. And often.”

Stiles hummed and beckoned Peter forward. Uncharacteristically, he did as he was bid. When he stopped in front of Stiles, he raised an unimpressed eyebrow and said, “Woof.”

After laughing for a good while and being stared at like he was mad, Stiles looked deeply into his eyes, intently studying something only he could see. “Oh, the pack’s Left Hand! You’d have gone to Heaven.”

Scott exploded. “What do you mean, Heaven? He killed someone!”

“Yeah, but Heaven is not for those who never did a wrong, but those who protect. Had he not killed anyone, he would have gone to Hell.”

“Why?”

Quietly, Allison explained, “A Left Hand’s job is to keep the pack safe by killing all threats. Simple as that.”

The irony of a werewolf hunter explaining to Scott the roles in a pack! Stiles could barely hold back from more inappropriate laughter.

“But-but! He murdered! That’s-“

“So, Scott, you say that every butcher should automatically go to Hell? They all kill for a living.”

To that, Scott had nothing to say.

“You know, Peter, you’re a real special case. Don’t get killed now, it’d be boring.”

Stiles leant back and looked at Peter, a slight smirk on his lips.  Peter mockingly bowed. “I live to please.”

“Why’s he so interesting?”, asked Isaac, playing with his scarves.

“Well, first, he was meant to go to Heaven because he was a good Left Hand. Then, he was destined for Purgatory because he was mad and sent people to Death. Then, he was to go to Hell because he escaped from Death. But now, he’s got a bit of everything. Just a tiny bit, sure, but enough to make no-one able to say where he’ll go.”

“So, if he died tomorrow, what would happen?”, Cora asked.

“Well, he’d go to Death. Then, it’s looked at closely where he’d fit best. Most often, in such cases, you go to Hell to pay for your crimes, then to Heaven because you don’t have the punishment of being reborn immediately after being purified as someone who was sent purely to Hell. Or, if it can’t be decided or Death likes you, you get sent back and just have a bit more time to let your actions decide where to go.”

With cold satisfaction, Scott said, “Then he needs to stop killing. Otherwise, he won’t go to heaven!”

Stiles and Peter exchanged a look. Allison hesitantly said, “Didn’t Stiles just say that the Left Hand has to kill?”

“I have no Left Hand!” Full of indignation, Scott turned to Allison, looking at her with betrayal. “Do you think he should kill? Is that it? Allison…”

He seemed so disappointed that Stiles couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Dude, she’s a hunter. What do you think she’s doing with those feral wolves? Pet them?”

“I can’t believe…! Allison, he’s lying, right? You’ve never killed anyone, right?”

All his desperate pleas couldn’t break her stony silence – her telling silence. Scott’s mouth fell open. Cora huffed, interrupting his self-righteous parade before it even started. “She reeks of wolfsbane. How did you not notice? Are you sure you’re a werewolf?”

Insulted, Scott turned his attention to her. “I’m your alpha! How can you say that?”

Isaac made himself smaller and got that hunted look in this eyes. Allison took pity on him and bid him to leave with a quick movement of her hand. Thankful, he crept away without a word. Peter and Stiles, now with Peter sitting on the chair and Stiles perched on the arm, watched the happenings with great interest and even greater amusement.

“You’re not.”

“What?”

Cora stared at Scott and said in a tone that strongly suggested he was an idiot, “I’m not in your pack. You’re not my alpha.”

“But-but… why?”

Scott felt like his world view had been destroyed. The pack apparently was not as peaceful and harmonious or even as numerous as he’d thought.

“I never even considered moving back here. Hell, it’s where my family died. Who’d want to live here?” Cora was disgusted at the mere thought. “I only came to see if Derek’s really alive. I’d planned on joining his pack, but…”

She trailed off, unsure how to continue. Peter had no such scruples. “He was a terrible alpha. No-one sane would have joined him.”

“Then you fit right in, didn’t you, creeperwolf?”, Stiles teased. Peter glared at him, but said nothing. Instead, Cora continued.

“So I asked my alpha to teach Derek. In the meantime, Peter would have been acting alpha until Derek learned to lead a pack.”

“So, what, Derek would just have left us?”, Scott demanded angrily.

“You’ve seen the chaos a weak alpha causes. It would’ve been for the best. Besides, he would’ve returned.”

“But Peter!”

Cora rolled her eyes. “He’s the best bet. He actually was in a functioning pack. And it only would’ve been for a year or two.”

“A year or two?!” Scott narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Are you still planning that?”

“What? No!” Affronted, she stood up. “Do you think my alpha would tutor every common alpha out there? It was a special favour to me that he even considered taking Derek under his wings!”

“Common-? But I’m a True Alpha!”

Cora snorted. “So what?”

Scott couldn’t find words in his sudden outrage.

“What? Scott”, Stiles interjected. “You’ve believed Deaton when he said there’s almost no true alphas?”

“Wha-“ Scott’s mouth stood wide open once more.

“Derek gave up his alpha spark which means it looked for someone in his pack. You were closest or strongest or werewolfiest when it got to you. That’s all.”

“But Deaton said-!”

“A lie. Deaton said a lie.”

“Lie!” Suddenly, Scott looked unbearably sad. “Stiles, I know you never liked Deaton”, he said in an understanding voice with a heavy undertone of condescension. “But you shouldn’t lie because of that.”

Stiles blinked a few times, then he snorted and bitterly looked to the side. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Peter comfortingly squeezed his shoulder.

Allison guiltily looked away, glad that Scott had already forgotten about her hunting. Before the conversation could move back into that direction, she made a show of glancing at her watch and exclaiming about how she’d promised to meet with her dad. Within ten seconds, she was in her car – considering the steps between the loft and the parking lot, this was quite an achievement. With the expression of a confused puppy, Scott followed her back with his gaze.

Peter asked, “Cora dear, when are you and Derek leaving again? I forgot.”

“Seriously, uncle Peter?” Cora rolled her eyes. “Next Wednesday.”

“Where are you going?”, Scott asked, confused.

Cora dropped back in her seat, crossed her legs and leaned back. “Mexico.”

He furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“To join my pack.”

“Derek will? But he’s in my pack!”

“Ahm, no? He never was?”

“Yes, he is!”

“Do you have a pack bond? Yes or no?”

Cora was annoyed. How could someone so ignorant be alpha?

Quickly, Scott thought back to Deaton’s lessons. He tried to feel for his pack bonds, but only found two – one to Isaac and one to Allison. He didn’t understand. How…?

“Stiles?” His voice was vulnerable and so hurt.

Stiles got what he wanted to ask and smiled kindly. “I’m a Death, Scott. We don’t have any bonds except for those to our blood family and our mate.”

“Mates? Like a pre-destined soulmate chosen by destiny and fate?”, Isaac asked, dreams glazing over his eyes.

Cora stood again, managing to look both enraged and on the verge on laughter. “Seriously? Did no-one ever teach this pack anything?”

Peter shrugged. “They don’t believe anything I say. If I claimed the sky is blue, they’d find some way to discredit me. And I still don’t think Derek known all this.”

“Or that he has the words or the patience to explain.” Stiles swung his legs. “He kinda expected Erica and Boyd to somehow miraculously jump from human to bitten beta to born werewolf. Instinctually. Without him doing anything.”

Cora thought on that for a bit, then did something with her eyebrows that equalled a nod in normal human customs. Then, she huffed and said, “I’m not sitting through Werewolf Basics 101. Count me out, kiddos. I guess I’ll explain all of this to Derek…”

“Nah, you’ve got time and support in Mexico for that. You rather should pack. Or, better said, buy Derek some things so that he has something to pack. I’m not convinced he has more than three shirts, one pair of jeans and socks. I wonder how he washes his clothes.” Stiles giggled.

Cora rolled her eyes, but left, mumbling something about Derek’s credit card.

Isaac and Scott stared at Stiles, wanting to know what “mates” were. Stiles groaned, then headed towards the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he yelled, “The floor is all yours, Professor Hale.”

Sighing, Peter spent the next hour of his life trying to explain “you choose a mate and bite him or her, binding your lover to you in a way similar to human marriage” to Scott who disbelieved his every word and Isaac who was convinced within ten minutes, then stared blankly at a wall as Scott stubbornly disagreed. Peter wished to be elsewhere.

Almost completely silent, Stiles laughed in the kitchen.

 

A few days later, the next supernatural crises called them all together. Lydia was pissed because she dug up _everything_ about Death, but didn’t find anything that denied Stiles’ words. But, and she took comfort in that, nothing confirmed his story, either. Jackson was pissed because Lydia was pissed. Scott was pissed because Derek and Cora left in the middle of Monday night without saying a word. Allison was pissed because she’d planned a party to send them off. Isaac was withdrawn and quiet because of the atmosphere. Peter was smug because Derek and Cora had come by to say farewell. Stiles radiated a mixture of satisfaction and jumpy excitement.

Needless to say, the meeting almost ended in a bloodbath. Stiles disagreed with Lydia’s assessment who threw a pout at her boyfriend. Jackson threatened to leave the pack if no-one would shut Stiles up. Peter asked if he’d liked being a lizard pet so much. Jackson tried to hit him with his claws, but he continued to evade. Scott stood by and tried to make them stop by looking like a disappointed dad. Allison finally pulled out mountain ash and separated the two. Stiles giggled. Scott turned his disapproving eyes on Allison. Stiles laughed. The couple started to make pointed remarks about each other. Lydia tried to wheedle Stiles for more information – to no avail. Either he’d already told her all he knew or it was a “Death secret”. More and more furious, Lydia took her frustrations out on Isaac by interro- questioning – helping him remember the material for the exam next week. Scott said something that made tears flow from Allison’s eyes. She ran, he followed. Isaac fled with them. Lydia huffed and said that with so few – and these – members, the meeting would lead to no solution and she had better things to waste her time on. Snapping her fingers, Jackson appeared on her side like a loyal dog. Flicking her hair over a shoulder, she left. With a scathing glare at Peter, Jackson followed.

Stiles grinned and threw himself into an armchair. “So, let’s start this pack meeting, shall we?”

After a short discussion, they had determined what the creature was. In a few more sentences, it was settled that the beast would be sent to Purgatory. Within half an hour, Peter had found it by following its scent trail, and after a fifteen-minute fight – Peter attacking and Stiles throwing pebbles from a distance and deadly accuracy -, the deed was done.

This meeting would set a precedent for many more meetings in the upcoming weeks.

 

Finally, one and a half months later, everyone had more or less reconciled. The pack now not only met to discuss potential or real threats, but at least for one evening a week just to relax. Lydia made a big show of ignoring Stiles and Peter who found this rather funny. As with everything, Jackson followed her lead, which apparently made it even more comic to the two. When Scott found out that all supernatural creatures – and a few hunters – had been sent to Death, he first shouted at Peter “for putting such ideas in his head!” and then at Stiles because “we could have reasoned with them!”. Stiles tried to explain that a fatalistic hunter cannot be reasoned with, not mentioning the various monsters and beasts that belonged to Purgatory. Scott disagreed. Allison – a hunter who’d ordered such creatures’ Death – supported Scott since they’d recently made up and she didn’t want to have another argument.

Stiles would have found it hilarious if it wasn’t so sad.

Now that the pack was united again, the ever sensitive Isaac thrived. He was back to mocking and talking back. Of course, Stiles, as the “Pack Human”, got the worst of it. Even Peter growling at him didn’t stop him, confident with the pack behind him.

As for Stiles – well, he was treated as if he was still alive and a weak human. Peter was back to the fringes of the pack. Lydia’s word rose in authority over Stiles’ and it was silently agreed that he must have misunderstood something because Small Deaths didn’t exist.

Their attack plans changed from a quick mercy killing to hours of containing the threat and ordering, cajoling, begging for peace and the creature moving on. Some did, some did not, instead returning in the dead of the night and ending human lives. Scott could not believe how someone would go back on his word while each of those encounters ended with Stiles a long “I told you so!” speech that went in one ear and out the other.

Peter tried to support Stiles or even warn about the creatures by contributing his knowledge, but he mostly went ignored or was told to “shut up, we don’t need your lies”.

Both thus unfairly treated, Stiles and Peter soon began to get along even better than when Stiles still was alive or in the interim before the pack’s reconciliation when the both of them basically were the pack. It helped that Peter, unlike all the others, never once treated Stiles like a weak, helpless, harmless, mindless human who just “misunderstood”. Instead, he talked to him as if to a powerful, conniving, smart, resourceful Small Death. He notices that being a Death had stopped Stiles’ ADHD, but not the amount and speed of his talking. Though he no longer ate, he still enjoyed some sweets and his beloved curly fries. He no longer slept but also didn’t look tired. With this extra time spent awake, Stiles rapidly learned more about all sorts of monsters. The pale skin of someone who’d died of bleeding out didn’t improve much, causing him to buy foundation and other make-up to hide his unnatural pallor. His eyes, though the same colour, were darkened by maturity and the sight of painful souls. His hair seemed to blacken “from my visits to Hell, dude. It may not be fire and brimstone, but the way there sure is hot”. All those small blemishes that made up humans – scars, swollen eyes, pimples, sweat, callouses – were gone overnight.

Obvious as these changes were, it seemed as if only Peter noticed them. When Stiles talked loudly and quickly about something exciting or other he’d found out about in that night’s research, Lydia scornfully reminded him to take his medication. Scott asked if he slept well since he was so pale and why he smelled of those “powder thingies girls use”. Allison kept offering food, seating him in the sun and wondering if his hair always had been so dark. When Stiles gave the same explanation he gave Peter, he was laughed at. Jackson had taken to not calling him by his name, instead opting for “human weakling”.

Each such encounter left Peter fuming with anger.

“How can he call you that? Doesn’t he remember your speed? Your strength? Your healing?”

Stiles shrugged. “He wants to see me as a human so weak that he can barely pick up a school bag, so of course, that’s what he sees. I’m more annoyed about Lydia, to be honest.”

Peter sighed. “Shouldn’t she as Banshee feel some sort of pull to you?”

“Not really. She’s a Wailer of Death, not a friend. But there is some pull. It should make her want to get on my good side.”

“She hates you”, Peter stated blandly.

Stiles shrugged again. “The puppy pack is severely out of touch with their instincts. I mean, you smell something different about me, don’t you?”

“Yes, definitely. I wouldn’t say you smell like a human. There is some sort of baseline…” Peter leant closer, rejoicing at how easily Stiles bared his throat, and took a deep breath. He frowned. “Both hot and cold.”

“Unpleasant or weird?”

Another sniff. “Weird. It makes me want to sneeze.” He leant back. “From here, it’s better, blending in with your natural scent. Does that have some sort of meaning?”

“To enemies and those belonging to Hell, it smells threatening. To others, it just signals otherness. The closer I am so someone, the more pleasant the scent. And pure souls swarm me.”

“That makes hunting more difficult, doesn’t it?”

Stiles smiled, a bloodthirsty little thing.

“No. It makes hunting more interesting.”

 

The next pack meeting ended in an argument yet again. This time, a wendigo came to town. Not even Scott could convince Lydia and Allison that talking would be a viable solution. After much sulking and some pointed remarks about the true nature and creation of such creatures and Scott’s intelligence, Lydia took control of the meeting, devising a strategy. Scott protested – if there was to be a fight, humans should be left behind. Allison protested heavily. Lydia argued that she was a Banshee. Kept safe from behind mountain ash, she would scream. Jackson refused to leave her alone, so Allison was placed inside the protective circle to guard her. Which left Stiles.

“You should stay here”, Scott said earnestly. “You can’t be hurt here.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You need the help, believe me.”

“Help? From you?” Jackson scoffed. “Sure.”

Stiles only hummed. Peter was not so complacent.

“Help from a Death? Others would send everyone they know to Hell for the mere chance of this happening, and you reject it?”

“What could Stiles help us?”

Lydia, this time.

Stiles clapped his hands. “Alright, fine, good. Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?” Lydia sounded sceptical.

He nodded. “I’ll only intervene if someone has been sent to Death. Is that alright?”

“What? No!”, Scott shouted. “If someone dies, it’s too late!”

Exasperated, Stiles huffed. “But no-one is going to get hurt, right, Scott? Well, fine. I can only make a deal if I get someone’s soul in exchange-“

“So you are a demon!”, Lydia interjected. Stiles ignored her, as he now usually did whenever she claimed to have discovered what creature he’d changed into.

“-so no deal. But if we make no deal, I can’t find anything out from the loft.”

“I’ll just call you, darling, as soon as we are overwhelmed”, Peter offered.

“So you’ll call as soon as you see the wendigo?”

Peter proudly raised his chin. “That is what any sane person would do.” He threw a scalding look to the pack. “Or any person who is in possession of a functioning brain.”

“Hey!”

Peter didn’t look threatened by Scott taking a step forward. Instead, he wore a pleasantly surprised face. “Our resident alpha recognises such difficult and long words! We’ll make an eloquent conversationalist out of you, yet.”

Scott growled.

“I’ll call!”, Allison intervened. “I’ll call Stiles if we can’t handle the wendigo. Inside the mountain ash circle, the wendigo can’t get to me, anyway.”

“And it also will go after you since you are the only human, so if you call its attention to you, it would give the others a breather”, Peter mumbled. “I can agree with that. It even is a somewhat intelligent solution!”

Stiles broke out in laughter. “Look at their faces! That horror! That surprise! You clearly overestimated her!”

“Allison…” Scott took her hand and looked at her with beseeching eyes. “You should stay-“

“No!” She wrenched her arm away and glared at her boyfriend. “I’m a hunter, Scott. I learned to protect people. Now you’re telling me that I should under no circumstances use my knowledge?”

“That’s not what I wanted to say!”

Stiles sighed. “Just go, dude, before you argue and the wendigo eats the guy it took.”

The reminder caused them all to pale. Lydia had described in detail what happened if you were taken by a wendigo. All still had vivid pictures behind their closed eyelids. Without another word, they rushed out.

“I’ll be waiting for your call!”, Stiles hollered after them.

 

Peter observed the battle scene. It was pure chaos.

In a small clearing not far from a ravine, the pack had encountered the wendigo. Its horns were devilishly pointed. Its crawls were like knives. Its fur was needle-like. It had blood dripping off its dangerously long and sharp teeth. Peter was jealous. In comparison, the teeth and claws he took pride in were as blunt as a pre-schooler’s wit.

On the other hand, the never-ending hunger was a serious downside.

Not only was about everything about it deadly sharp, but it also was fast. The only thing it lacked was intellect, but its instincts made up for it.

So, as Peter had expected from the very beginning, one alpha, one beta, one ex-lizard, one weakened beta, a banshee and a huntress were not enough to contain the beast. They were lucky it had spent long enough sniffing the air for Allison to draw the circle that protected her and Lydia.

Peter wished to be in it, too.

If he gave the commands, he would have told Allison to call Stiles as soon as she’d made the circle. Heck no, he would have taken him with them. But Scott, True Alpha of Intelligence, decided in all his wisdom that Stiles should not be bothered. Only when almost everyone was passed out did he give his permission – by passing out, but one shouldn’t look too closely.

So Allison called Stiles.

“Stiles! Thank God you picked up!”, she sobbed into the speaker.

“Hey, Allison! What’s up?”

“The wendigo- you were right, it’s too strong!” She flinched as it locked onto her voice and slowly came closer.

“Is that so?” He sounded so unbothered that Peter almost smiled. He would have if Scott didn’t start groaning and grunting in that moment.

“Please, please help us!”, she begged, her eyes on Scott.

Isaac pressed harder on Scott’s stomach and reprimanded him to keep still. Peter wondered if he would see Scott’s innards if he took a step to the left. Only a bit. Pity.

Jackson was downed on the other side of the clearing. He probably would have a scar across his face if the poison on the wendigo’s claws was what Peter suspected. Paralysing either didn’t work on a kanima (or ex-kanima) or too well, maybe even stopping heart and lungs. Peter still could hear his heartbeat. Pity.

Allison had shot all her arrows – made of the wrong wood to hurt a wendigo, and not even flaming. Lydia had screamed until she noticed the fatal flaw in her plan Peter had pointed out when she first laid it out, filled with self-glory: If she screamed in close distance to her allies, especially if they were werewolves, she would only down them. This momentary distraction had brought Jackson his injury.

“Are you certain you can’t handle it yourselves? You were so certain earlier.” Stiles took a sip of something. Peter guessed it was tea, based on the time of day.

“Scott is almost bleeding out!”

“No, he’s not. I’d feel it if he were close to Death.”

Peter chuckled. No doubt Stiles felt wronged and waited for an apology. He wondered how long it would take the puppies to figure that out. If Scott really was in danger of meeting Death, Stiles surely would already have arrived even if he’d promised not to. A promise was not a deal, after all.

“Can you even help? Will you even be here before Scott dies?”

Anger was the wrong way. It didn’t intimidate Stiles but told him that he was on the right track. Anger was a defence mechanism, after all.

“Sure. I’ll be there as quick as Death.”

“Your sense of humour hasn’t improved!”, Peter called.

“Fuck off, creeperwolf.”

“Please, Stiles!” Allison screamed as the wendigo had enough of staring at her and decided to grab her, only to be rebuffed by the circle. Unperturbed, it reached out again.

Scott grunted out a mouthful of blood. Isaac tentatively stopped putting pressure on his abdomen. Jackson began to stir.

The wendigo turned around, claws at Peter’s back in a second.

Suddenly, Stiles was there.

The wendigo ran.

Stiles easily kept pace, taking a knife that grew to a sword in the blink of an eye and decapitating the monster. With a lazy clap, he set the corpse on fire.

“I’ll be right back.”

Between one second and the next, he was gone. Only a few moments later, he was back, his hair darker still.

He yawned.

“Thanks”, Peter said. The claws had barely grazed his skin, not enough to inject the poison and certainly not enough to seriously hurt him. The scratches already had healed.

“No worries, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Sure thing, bro.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“Thanks. I’ll have a shirt printed.”

Peter sighed, exasperated. He really should stop bantering like that – he always lost. An uncomfortable knowledge.

Decidedly blasé, Stiles turned to Scott. “You okay?”

Scott stared at him with betrayal in his eyes.

“No, I’m not okay! A wendigo put its hand through my stomach!”

 “So it is stronger than you’d expected? About as strong as I said it would be?”

 Stiles strolled closer, Peter following. It seemed natural to him, like the way it had been to follow his father before Talia became the alpha.

“Why didn’t you say you could do all that? We could have killed it within moments!”

“Would you have let me come, then? Or would I have been”, Stiles made a great show of searching for the right words, then quoted, “too human, too weak?”

“Of course! You’re practically the strongest of us all!”

Stiles snorted. “I did tell you that you would need me. You said no.”

“But we didn’t know of your strength!”

“Right. Who pulled your arses out of the fire whenever one of your plans failed back when I was human? I shouldn’t have to prove myself now.”

“Stiles…”

Both Peter and Stiles ignored the alpha’s puppy eyes in favour of looking around. Peter asked, “Is the wendigo snack still alive?”

“Peter!” Scott started a tirade about being disrespectful to a human being or being so uncaring that someone had been sent to Death or some other garbage like that. Peter didn’t listen.

Stiles closed his eyes, concentrated for a moment and nodded. Waving a lazy hand, he gestured in a direction. “He’s somewhere there. Only got a few more hours, too.”

Suddenly, Jackson started screaming. Peter rolled his eyes. And they accused him of being dramatic.

“What’s wrong with him?”, Scott asked, running to his side. Lydia already sat there, trying to calm him, tears in her eyes.

Stiles clapped a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “The werewolf healing is stronger than the poison so it’s breaking it down. Don’t worry; in half an hour, he’ll be as good as new, unfortunately.”

Beseechingly, Scott looked up to him. “Can’t you do something?”

“No? Why would you think that?” Stiles drew back, genuinely surprised.

“You’re this powerful magical creature! Can’t you heal him?”

“I can make his pain stop”, Stiles thought out loud. Then, he smirked. “I can make it stop forever.”

“What? You would kill him?! Stiles!” Full of righteous fury, Scott stood, towering over a bored looking Stiles.

“That’s what a Death does, Scott. If we healed people, we would be called Healers, not Deaths.”

Shaking his head, Stiles looked to Allison. “What’s going on with her, anyway?”

Peter also had noticed that the resident huntress had been remarkably quiet. He welcomed this new development. As he turned, he saw her lying in her circle, unmoving. For a second, he rejoiced. Then, he noticed that her heart still beat.

Damn.

Did not a single one of these mutts go to Death today? And he’d had such high hopes.

Well, nothing to be done about it now.

Before Stiles’ change, he was resigned to protect his nephew and niece while they remained in this damn caricature of a pack. After they’d left, he’d decided stay to protect Stiles. He’d not dared to go against the child wolves, especially Scott. No matter how terribly the boy behaved, Stiles remained loyal and vicious against threats. Peter knew that, even if he managed to kill the alpha who had more luck than skill, he wouldn’t last a week before Stiles slew him in revenge. Now, with Stiles’ change, he saw a bit of hope. Deaths cared little about life and death. The way Stiles explained it, they could see the majority of souls of departed people whenever they pleased to do so. The only ones they didn’t have access to were those that were in the process of being reborn. So, if someone was killed, to Stiles, it was as if he’d moved to the other side of the country. Bothersome, but manageable. And while he was trained to be a Death, he’d gained some maturity and distance to Scott, looking at him not only with the eyes of a friend, but also from the viewpoint of a supernatural creature. Stiles now got things a human never could. He understood why an alpha of a werewolf pack could not be such a pathetic thing that never killed and hesitated before did, ran after his girlfriend’s skirt before he took care of his betas. He could _feel_ how far Scott was from his wolf, his instincts. He understood the disastrous outcome of loving a hunter.

Granted, this was Stiles Peter was talking about. He’d probably known most if not all of those things before becoming supernatural, himself. His instincts always had been on par with a werewolf.

Truly, since coming back, Stiles had been more thoughtful, more disregarding of Scott’s words. Before, he would propose a plan, have it rejected, and bring up a new one. Now, he proposed a plan, had it rejected, and leant back in amusement to watch the upcoming disaster. It certainly helped that as soon as he explained himself, he was disregarded as a liar and told to shut up. Peter was more understanding, believed him and could therefore entice him to spend more time with him, giving him the opportunity to influence him. Of course, Stiles knew what he was doing. Whenever he hinted at Scott’s inability to do anything even remotely right, he would get this glint in his eyes, telling him that Stiles was very conscious of his blatant manipulations. He considered his words all the same.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that Stiles saw and thought the same things Peter did.

But there was still some spark of protectiveness in Stiles that Peter doubted would ever be extinguished.

Sighing, he turned to the scene now showing that Scott was controlled by the lower, not the upper head.

He was banging against the mountain ash barrier, trying to get to Allison.

Stiles rolled his eyes, then stepped over the line, taking a look at the fallen girl.

“When the wendigo attacked earlier, it sprayed its poison from its claws. One or two drops hit Allison’s bare skin, downing her.”

“She’s gonna be okay, right? Tell me she’s gonna be okay, Stiles!”

“Dude, calm down. A good night’s rest never hurt nobody.”

“And I should just let her lay there?!”

“No?” Stiles tilted his head, bewildered. “When did I ever say that?”

“So, I’ll bring her home and she’ll just sleep and be okay?” Scott turned his eyes filled with hope on Stiles. “She’s really not hurt?”

Stiles nodded, then yawned. “C’mon, Peter, let’s go home and sleep. I’ll tell you all about sugar production!”

Stepping across the line, absent-mindedly kneeling down to break it, Stiles took Peter’s hand and pulled him away.

“Excuse you, I do not need sleep! I did nothing exhausting! I merely stood by-“

Between one blink and the next, they were gone.

Lydia was busy with Jackson. Scott’s attention was on Allison. Therefore, the only one to notice was Isaac. “What the-?!”

 

Two days later, when everyone was healed and awake, there was an emergency pack meeting. Subject: Stiles.

“What should we do with him?”, Scott asked, confused.

“He didn’t help at all!”, Jackson said angrily. “He would’ve let me be eaten by that damn monster!”

“Because you asked him not to help”, countered Peter.

Why he was even there, nobody knew. No-one had told him about the meeting. No-one wanted him at the meeting. Even he didn’t want to be at the meeting. Yet somehow, he still appeared at his usual spot on the staircase, looking bored and absolutely done with the topic before the discussion even had begun.

Lydia demanded to be told what happened – again. She’d been too busy worrying over Jackson to notice anything but her fallen lover.

And so a story was told.

Scott said, “Allison called him and he refused to come! I don’t get why he would do such a thing!”

Peter interjected, “Because he said he’d come after someone went to Death or you apologised.”

Scott said, “The wend-something-“

Peter interjected, “Wendigo.”

Scott said, “Yeah, that, it went after Peter. It had its claws inside him-“

Peter interjected, “It barely grazed my skin.”

Scott said, “But Stiles, like, healed him!”

Peter interjected, “He did not.”

Scott shouted, “Finally shut up, Peter!”

Scott said, “Anyway, then, Stiles went full-on berserker.”

Peter interjected, “Do you even know what a berserker is?”

Scott said, “He pulled out this big-ass sword and killed the monster! Just like that! Even though it ran away!”

Peter interjected, “That’s what you called him for, isn’t it?”

Scott said, “He diagnosed Jackson, but he didn’t want to heal him.”

Peter interjected, “That’s because a Death can’t heal.”

Scott said, “And then, he diagnosed Allison.”

Peter interjected, “Anyone with half a brain could have deducted that.”

Scott said, “And then he broke the mountain ash circle, took Peter, and just, like, vanished or something!”

Ten seconds of silence.

Then, Peter echoed with disgust in his voice, “He, like, vanished or something. Right.”

“Kindly do shut up, Peter, no-one has asked for your opinion”, Lydia said without even paying him any attention. “I doubt you know what happened, anyway.”

Peter raised an amused eyebrow. “I dare say I as eyewitness know more than you.”

“I doubt you know what was going on”, Lydia said haughtily.

Peter snorted. “Right. A snot-nosed brat who only just dipped her toe into the broad field of supernatural creatures wants to argue with me who not only grew up with that knowledge, but also researched the hell out of it for longer than you’ve been alive. If you don’t call that arrogance…”, he trailed off.

Lydia grinded her teeth, trying hard to ignore Peter. Scott launched into a tirade about “untrustworthy ex-alphas” and “lying bastards” that no-one listened to. Allison seemed to consider Peter’s words. Jackson stood up threateningly as he heard his girlfriend being mistreated in such an unkind way. Isaac longingly gazed at the door.

When the commotion died down and the tempers had cooled, Lydia asked as if nothing had happened, “And you say Stiles broke the mountain ash circle?” At Scott’s nod, she voiced her confusion aloud, “But he should not be able to. I read about it in the Argent bestiary. The creature must be more than ninety percent human to be unaffected by the barrier. And Stiles is dead. He shouldn’t be able to even come close.”

“That’s because there’s no barriers for Death. Nothing can stop a Death”, Stiles casually announced, lounging on the stair above Peter’s, popping a taco into his mouth.

Everyone screamed in surprise and turned. Isaac even tripped on his own feet and fell down. Jackson growled. Scott was confused. Allison seemed unsure what to feel and think. On one hand, Stiles had rescued them. On the other, he’d done so only when Peter was in danger. Still, he’d saved her and the innocent victim of the Wendigo from certain death. Lydia paled.

“Where… where did you come from? No creature I read about is supposed to be able to do that…”

“Even if I run into danger of repeating myself”, Stiles started. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath and then said, pronouncing each word carefully and taking short breaks between them, “I am a Small Death.”

Lydia protested full of frustration, “Such a creature does not exist!”

“And yet, you can’t disprove my claim any longer, can you? Your books don’t know everything, Lydia. Be glad to never meet those things that have no word written about them. Those are the worst you can imagine.”

“That is nonsense! The hunters already have seen and experienced everything! They’ve been around for centuries!”

Lydia glared at Stiles, daring him to say anything. Unfortunately for her, after his meeting with Death and his training, he no longer was so meek that he stopped talking just because someone looked at him weirdly. So he said, with a shit-eating grin, “So things only exist if they’ve been written about? You know that scientists were laughed at for insisting that hygiene helps prevent infections in hospitals? People used to ridicule Copernicus and Galileo. What they all claimed wasn’t written down beforehand.”

“That’s not what I meant! But hunters have been researching and encountering supernatural creatures for generations!”

“Since before script even existed, yes, I know, thank you. But there always is something you missed, something that hid, something you don’t think to look for, something you can’t look for. People believed that atoms are the smallest part of the universe since they didn’t have the means to look deeper.”

Lydia was speechless. Stiles was visibly pleased with himself.

“Stiles, then… Tell us what you can do?”, Scott asked.

“Finally a sensible question! Thank you, Scott, man.” Stiles stood, stretched and slowly descended the stairs to sit on the couch table. Peter coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “drama queen”, which had Stiles toss him a wink over his shoulder.

“The job of a Small Death is to separate body and soul and escort the soul to the next plain.” He paused to think, then shrugged and conceded, “Or have someone come collect the soul. Or send it on its merry way. Some souls have been reborn often enough that they know the path by themselves. Others have relations with such souls and are brought to Death’s domain by them.”

“So you bring souls to Heaven! That’s so cute!”, Allison squealed.

Stiles raised a brow. “Uhm, no? I’m a Death of Hell. I take souls to Hell. I mean, if I happen to come across a soul bound for Heaven, I’ll take it along. But primarily, I collect for Hell.”

Isaac swallowed loudly. “And… the wendigo?”

“Oh, a wendigo is a beast. It went to Purgatory.”

“But you just said you work for Hell!”

“Yeah, but- This is difficult to explain. Like, in school, you have to write an essay about globalisation, right? But no-one’s checking if you write one or twenty, or if you write one about the topic and fifty about something else. All that matters is that you take the essay about globalisation to the right teacher at the right time, right? I’ve got a quota to meet, but if I overwork, so to speak, it doesn’t matter, either.”

Lydia suddenly spoke up again, “How do we know you aren’t lying?”

“How do you know that anyone is telling the truth?”, Stiles countered.

“By listening to their heartbeat! But yours always is the same or I don’t hear any at all.” Scott gave his best impression of a confused puppy. It was very good.

Stiles sighed. “Then don’t trust me. But believe me, no-one else but you and the Deaths know that a Death even exists.”

“What? Why? Do you kill them all?”

“Don’t sound so horrified, Isaac. No, but a new Death usually only tells their family and friends. And when they go to Death, their knowledge goes with them.”

“They’d still talk to someone about it! They wouldn’t just keep quiet about it!”

“What else do you want me to say? You clearly don’t believe me. Just do what you want.”

“I do not need nor want your permission! I’ll do what I want anyway!”

Stiles smiled sardonically. “Believe me, I know that.”

Deciding that she’d had enough, Lydia turned away with a huff.

“Call Deaton”, she hissed at Scott. He, confused and in search of truthful answers, did so.

The next ten minutes were spent with tension in the air, hindering all conversation. Allison and Scott held hands tightly. Lydia fumed silently. Jackson stared at her. Isaac tried to seem bored, but didn’t succeed in hiding the nervous look in his eyes. Peter was reading. Stiles was humming cheerily, ignoring the incredulous glares thrown his way.

Then, Deaton opened the door.

As always, his face was calm and unmoved. His gait was smooth. His breathing was slightly faster than usual because of the stairs. In his left hand, he held a case.

“What have you called me here for?”

Lydia lent forward. “We need you to clarify something! Stiles believes he’s something he’s not! He claims he’s a-“

Abruptly, she cut off. Her hands went to her throat as if they could dislodge the thickened air that kept her from talking.

Everyone fussed over her. As soon as she tried to say something else, she could talk again.

“What the fuck, Stilinski!”

Everyone asked about the same thing, but Jackson was the loudest. He took a threatening step forward and tried to hit Stiles. Only, when his fist was about to connect with Stiles’ cheek, the Death disappeared and instead lounged on the couch. Seeing Jackson’s befuddled face, he smiled cheekily and just had time to say, “Not what you expected, ha?” before Jackson came at him again. And again. And again.

At this casual display of speed, the emotionless vet was disbelieving. “A Spark should be unable to do that!”

“I’m not a Spark, druid”, Stiles said, suddenly right in front of Deaton. “Oh!”, he crooned. “You’re headed to Hell! I’ll look forward to seeing you there!”

Deaton blanched. “What-?”

Scott chose this moment to let loose an alpha roar, cowering Jackson into sitting down next to Lydia like an unruly puppy. Peter walked closer, soon next to Stiles. Allison nervously eyed all three of them. Isaac was cowering in his seat.

With an angry spark in his eyes, Scott turned to Stiles. “What do you mean? Why can’t we tell Deaton what you are? Why do you think he’s going to hell?”

Looking very much entertained, Stiles stepped back and sat down on the coach table. Peter seemed disinterested in Stiles’ explanation, instead watching Deaton carefully.

“You can’t tell someone who doesn’t know already what I am. This is how the knowledge about us doesn’t spread. We make it impossible for someone to tell anyone we don’t approve of. And man, do we not approve of Deaton!” He shook his head, but his mouth was turned into a spiteful smile. “As for why he’s going to Hell: You sure you wanna know? This is gonna destroy your world view while proving my, oh yes, ‘unfounded suspicions’ true! Isn’t that great, Scotty?”

“Just tell me already!”, Scott shouted.

“No need to get loud, dude.” Stiles glanced around at the faces of his apt listeners. “You really sure? I can almost guarantee that someone’s gonna kill him as soon as I read his crimes.”

“You must have misread! Deaton has no crimes!”

“Sure. So he didn’t lower the wards so that Kate Argent could burn down the Hale pack?”

Peter growled. “I knew it! All this time, I asked myself why the wards failed that specific day. Druid, why did you not do your duty? Why did you all let us burn?”

“The balance-“

“Screw your fucking balance! This-!”

“Peter, it’s gonna get worse. Calm down.”

At Stiles’ calm words, Peter breathed deeply, but didn’t take his eyes from Deaton. “Tell his crimes quickly, then, so we know what we have to fix.”

Stiles hummed. He slowly stood and sauntered up to Peter.  “Don’t you worry, wolf, he’s going to suffer for a long time.”

Keeping a hand on his arm, Stiles addressed the whole room again. “I have seen: You willingly let the Hale pack be burned by a crazed hunter. You willingly sent the new Alpha Hale far away from her territory and her pack mate. You made it difficult for her to come into contact with her beta. You facilitated Peter Hale’s descend into madness by severing his connection to his alpha. You didn’t ease his injuries and discomfort, thus elongating his suffering and coma. You called the Hale Alpha back when her beta went on a rampage without telling her about the situation. You put a scent-dampening spell on the woods, making it impossible for alpha and beta to recognise each other. You strengthened Peter Hale’s wolf while weakening his human. You manipulated Scott McCall to kill Peter Hale. You left Derek Hale to the effects of aconite. You helped Kate Argent capture him. You denied Derek Hale the training he needed to be a successful alpha. You kept the Kanima’s identity secret. You told Gerard Argent the truth about Kate Argent’s demise. You stood by as the Kanima wreaked havoc. You denied help to a budding Banshee.  You wilfully held a creature in the Nemeton, thus poisoning both creature and Nemeton and along with it the land. You allowed the Alpha Pack to pass into the territory. You allowed a Darach to pass into the territory. You allowed both of them to torture the pack. You permitted the Darach to start the Ritual of the Five-Fold Knot. You didn’t stop the Darach from sacrificing innocent humans. You yourself sacrificed teenagers to the Nemeton – unnecessarily. You allowed the Nogitsune held captive there to possess one of them. You interfered when the Hale Alpha Spark would have gone to Peter Hale, diverting it to Scott McCall. You manipulated Scott McCall to become the furthest existence from an alpha a werewolf can be. You weakened Peter Hale when he was about to regain his power from the consequences of the Worm Moon Ritual. You let countless other supernatural creatures with ill intent enter the territory. You encouraged the alpha to let them pass to bring their violence and Death to other territories. You frightened the alpha into giving you more credence and power than you deserve.”

With every new item added, the room paled more and more. Shocked breaths were drawn, scandalised looks exchanged, tears left eyes. Deaton tried to look as stoic as usual but sweat gathered on his brow, his gaze searched for an exit, he stunk of fear.

Stiles leaned forward. “In other words: You screwed up, druid, and I look forward to seeing you in Hell.”

He hummed contentedly as Peter glanced at him. Then, he proceeded to sever the druid’s head from his torso.

To the loud screams of horror and fear of the pack, Peter left the room, Stiles’ resounding laugh in his ears.

 

Peter cooked. He didn’t quite like it, many recipes too uncomfortable to make now that sizzling and roasting reminded him of a house and screams and _hot, it burns, help me, save me, please!_ Still, some things he could prepare easily. Like this: a strudel made entirely of vegetables. No meat, no oil, no flashbacks. Perfect.

Stiles was lounging on the sofa in his living room. Peter wasn’t quite sure since when. He’d turned around a few minutes ago to grab the milk from the fridge and there he was, standing in the door frame, arms crossed, a fond expression on his face. The first time he had suddenly appeared out of no-where, Peter had been surprised, but with each visit, his shock lessened until he didn’t find it strange at all to find Stiles. He quite liked Stiles, always had, and had a lot of questions about Death and his deceased pack. Stiles answered truthfully, no matter how painful the answer was to Peter, and didn’t try to sugar-coat even Laura’s reaction to her meeting with Peter and Death. In exchange, Peter listened as Stiles complained about the McCall pack and his father. Gradually, they opened up about more personal details, as well. When Stiles confessed to being beaten up and kidnapped by more than one fraction of fanatical hunters and groups or packs or individuals of various supernatural species, Peter was ready to go out for murder. Stiles had assured him with a satisfied glint in his eyes that this trauma was taken care of. After Peter’s admission that he had aforementioned problem with cooking, Stiles started leaving pre-cooked meals in his fridge, the sort that was home-cooked and only needed five minutes in a microwave. Stiles confided that he avoided doors when at all possible, and if he was in a room, the door was to be firmly closed, and if that was not possible, it had to be opened so wide that the handle touched the wall. When Peter started closing all the doors in his apartment – always, no matter how short or how inconvenient –, Stiles gave him a smile, a hug and a map full of recipes that didn’t require anything triggering.

All in all, Peter would admit, if hard pressed, that they were friends. If he was incredibly drunk, stoned and high, he probably would concede that they were best friends. Under torture the kind that made Hell look down in shame, he would acknowledge that he possibly had never been as close to another being as he was to Stiles.

And Stiles felt much the same. Being immortal and able to visit everything and everyone dead and alive at any given moment if he wanted to, he could be everywhere: with his friends, his father, his dead mother, his Polish grandparents, discovering new sights in rainforests, deserts or mountain tops. Still, he chose Peter’s flat to haunt.

Peter took it to mean what it meant: Peter was as important to Stiles as Stiles was important to Peter.

Therefore, it was only logical to slowly draw closer. A casual touch here, a coincidental brush there. Laying a hand on an arm, standing shoulder to shoulder. Stiles observed this development with shrewd eyes and, after a while, finally started to reciprocate. They graduated to occasional hugs. Much to his surprise, Peter found himself falling into the role of beta no two hours after a hesitant kiss to the cheek.

Stiles seemed disbelieving of this. “I mean, of course I got what you wanted to do”, he said, tucked under Peter’s arm on Peter’s couch in Peter’s living room in Peter’s flat, hands warming on hot chocolate in Peter’s cup from Peter’s cupboard in Peter’s kitchen, body covered by Peter’s shirt from Peter’s wardrobe in Peter’s bedroom, smelling of the mysterious smell of a Death and Stiles and Peter. Peter was thoroughly content. Stiles continued, “It’s kind of hard not to when you got the crash course of All Beings and How They Tick and How to Kill Them All Dead to Death. Not quite what the instructors called it, but who cares. Trust, increasing tendencies to touch, affection, scenting and smelling makes pack. Deaths only have bonds to our families and mates. I didn’t think you’d be able to forge a connection even though we are neither.”

Peter pulled Stiles a bit closer. “Maybe it’s because you were part of a pack before you became a Death.”

Stiles didn’t even consider the idea before he shot it down. “There’re all sorts of Deaths, Peter. Some even were werewolves before. That can’t be true. Maybe it’s a mixture. You can’t deny that you noticed that we have the potential to be mates. Then there’s the fact that as the Left Hand, you sent a lot of beings to Death. Additionally, there was the whole ‘being tricked into killing your alpha, being killed by your beta and the following stunt with the Worm Moon’ thing. Maybe you’re more closely related to the other side than any other person who was this close to a Death.”

Peter nodded. “If there are only so few Deaths, and I dare say about as much if not fewer beings who return from Death unscathed, what are the chances that those two beings met and became close? The mate potential is just an added bonus, I think.”

Stiles grinned and rubbed his hands together in a villain-y fashion. “Do you realise what that means? I can boast for all eternity with that! Take that, instructor!”

Peter laughed along with Stiles. “Glad to be of service.”

And that was that.

There were no uncomfortable discussions about how Peter was not part of Scott’s pack. Stiles didn’t ask why Peter didn’t leave with Derek and Cora or at least attempt to forge a pack bond with them. He didn’t demand to know why it was Stiles, of all people and creatures and other beings on this earth, that captured Peter’s interest and the wolf’s instincts. They didn’t talk about Peter’s position as faithful beta. There were no mentions of adding to their pack of two, how to handle supernatural and human beings out to harm them or whether they should talk to Scott.

After Stiles sent the wendigo to Purgatory, he brought Peter back to his flat. There, he fussed over Peter until he finally was in bed with a hot cup of cocoa and pitcher of water. Peter watched on, partly amused – he had never seen Stiles like this – and partly annoyed – he had been the Left Hand of the Hale Pack, dammit, he could damn well take care of himself! – while another part of him was just fond. When Stiles had settled down – or, in other words, when Peter had had enough, suddenly jumped up, pulled Stiles under the sheets and lied back down himself –, Peter sleepily remarked, “I wonder when the Great True Alpha will find out that I left his pack.”

Stiles hummed, smoothed his hand down Peter’s arm and curled up against him. “I wouldn’t put too much money on him figuring out himself. Possibly Lydia, if she was more attentive. Or Allison?”

Peter dryly said, “Or literally anyone else we even remotely know?”

Stiles giggled and cuddled closer. “Even if he found out himself right this second”, he whispered, “you’d still be my favourite, creeper wolf.”

Peter growled half-heartedly, the kind he’d given whenever baby Cora climbed all over him and stuffed her little fingers into his nostrils or hit his cheeks with her tiny hands whenever he’d dared to fall asleep on the couch. As expected, Stiles only giggled harder.

But they decided to come clean to Sheriff Stilinski. Not only because it was useful to have him as an ally, but also because the mere notice of the Sheriff finding out somehow else and despising his son or his choices made Stiles panic like few other things. After a lot of pacing, more back-and-forth discussions about whether to sit the Sheriff down and inform him of the current situation or to rather keep him out of all supernatural happenings that he didn’t have to take part in, and many half-freak-outs and more reassuring words, Stiles resolved to meet up with his father.

Peter, of course, accompanied him.

The Sheriff was called and ready for a “business meeting”. He heard the bell, opened the door, took in Stiles, saw Peter behind him, looked at Stiles’ face.

“Oh God, kiddo. Come in and tell me it’s not what it looks like.”

He could _feel_ the moment Peter swallowed down the sarcastic quip he’d normally have made in response. He looked at Peter’s face.

“Oh God, Peter. I hope you’re ready for your shovel talk.”

Stiles blushed and vehemently denied any need for such a conversation. He was so busy shaking his head that he didn’t notice Peter nodding solemnly.

Sheriff Stilinski led them inside and sat them down in the living room. He stepped out to bring drinks and, upon re-entry, couldn’t help but notice that the pair had elected to sit on the couch, close enough together so that a third and fourth person could easily fit. He chose an armchair adjacent to the couch, near Stiles.

Stiles explained in soft words how the pack had treated him as a human – always ignored, belittled for his physical abilities or, in this case, lack thereof, and how he’d often been kidnapped by the latest villain without any rescue coming. Then, he went on to describe how the pack now, as a Death, excluded, ridiculed and talked badly about him. He confessed that he didn’t want to worry his father and had downplayed the situation. He also admitted that he hadn’t known _how_ badly he was treated when he was human before his lessons to become a Death.

After a few manly tears and fatherly hugs, Stiles continued his tale. He talked about Peter and him somehow forming pack bonds, the wendigo, Deaton, the pack’s reaction.

The Sheriff took a few deep breaths, his fingers massaging his forehead. “You sure never do anything the easy way, do you?” He sighed and pointed a finger threateningly at Peter. “And you! You better treat him well. I have aconite bullets and a functioning gun as well as a permission to shoot anyone deemed a threat to other’s lives.”

Peter seriously answered, “I’ll do my best to never hurt him.”

“What the heck!” Stiles threw his hands up in exasperation. “Am I a Southern Belle, 19th-century virgin bride about to get married?”

The Sheriff and Peter exchanged amused looks. The Sheriff then said, in a grave voice, “You are seventeen for another two months, Stiles. I sure hope you are a virgin.”

Stiles spluttered. “Dad – that’s – are you serious – and Peter, you arsehole, don’t laugh!”

The business meeting changed into a pleasant evening spent talking and – mostly – embarrassing Stiles. All in all, Stiles dubbed it “a smashing success, and now stop laughing! I’m serious, zombie wolf!”.

The Sheriff agreed with them that it would only cause the situation to escalade if they had a talk with Scott and told him that Peter managed to do what he couldn’t – form a pack bond with Stiles – and that Stiles was okay, even happy with it. He still remembered the small little boy who never could understand why something was different from what he thought it should be and never realised his mistakes as such. Back then, when he’d insisted that his father’s briefcase was a demonic device built to keep his dad away from him and his mum, and nothing and no-one could convince him otherwise, it had been cute. But now, when he was convinced that being a werewolf equalled being a monster, having committed a mistake was unforgivable, and being a Death was impossible, it decidedly less endearing. When confronted with the truth, Scott didn’t acknowledge it. The briefcase stayed a devil, even after he burned it to “save” his father and still, nothing about his working hours changed. Being a werewolf himself, learning more about the species and being told of the circumstances behind his own bite didn’t change his views. Only he himself seemed exempt from scrutiny. Peter, insane after an incredibly painful coma and separation from his pack, _had_ to be an evil bastard out to get him and could never have good intentions. Derek, dosed on aconite and in acute danger, couldn’t react on instinct and mistakenly bite his adversary, no, he’d planned a long-term con to separate Scott and Allison. Stiles couldn’t just have some hormonal-teenager-attention-seeker-mischief-hunting-trouble-maker, no, he’d _intentionally_ tricked Scott into going into the woods, somehow orchestrating an alpha Peter high on instincts and a bite out of _sheer spite_. But Scott had only done what he could and should and had to do and _was forced to do by circumstances_ when he’d forced Derek into biting Gerard Argent.

Scott, Sheriff Stilinski decided, was hypocrisy personified. It would be best if he never ever found out about this small pack apparently counting one Noah Stilinski, one “Stiles” and one beta werewolf by the name of Peter Hale.

So, of course, Murphy’s Law decided to show that what can go wrong will go wrong, Fate decided to show that it still was the largest dick around and Karma decided to go along because why not.

Scott came upon Stiles while he was on a job. In other words: Scott came upon Stiles while he was elbow-deep in a man’s gut.

Instead of making up an excuse, or explaining himself, or fleeing, or any other normal way to react when your maybe-still-but-most-probably-ex-best friend catches you with the person you are in murdering that moment, Stiles called out a casual greeting. “Heya, Scotty! Didn’t expect to see you here, honestly. Do you want to help? These buggers are quite hard to kill; you’ve got to get the heart out with your bare hands. You’d get it a lot faster, I bet, with your claws and all.”

Scott, who’d resolutely put Deaton’s murder on Peter’s shoulder – ignoring that Stiles had warned him that he would die and that Stiles had said the words that caused Peter to kill him and the crimes Deaton had committed – and equally decidedly didn’t acknowledge any blame, was horribly shocked at this atrocity executed right under his nose and by his sort-of-maybe-but-actually-not-but-let’s-not-think-about-it best friend. He grabbed Stiles, dragged him to the loft, put him on a chair, tied him up, called the pack – all of them, even Peter – and gave Stiles a very disappointed look. Stiles, bewildered and then amused, allowed all of this.

Slowly, the pack member drifted in. They all circled Stiles who likened this experience to old mafia movies. He almost wanted to ask where the concrete was.

Finally strolled in Peter. He raised an eyebrow, snorted at the sight before him _and_ rolled his eyes. How he managed to do so without looking utterly ridiculous was beyond Stiles. But he seemed calm and collected, unworried and detached from the happenings. What did he have to worry about, after all? Nothing can hold Death, nothing can keep Death, nothing can kill Death. He trusted his Alpha to know what he was doing. Obviously, he still kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary or a sign from Stiles. Being overly cautious was _never_ wrong.

Scott cleared his throat. When the attention was on him, not the bound Stiles, he explained why he had ordered the pack to come. “That can’t be Stiles! He killed someone!”

Various exclamations of disbelief and shock later, Peter asked, “Who did he kill?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care! We need to find out what is wrong with Stiles!”

Lydia said, “We’ve tried to do that for numerous days already and found nothing. What do you propose we change?”

“I don’t know! But he’s killing people!” Scott walked back and forth, running fingers through his hair. Miserably, he confessed, “I can’t get that picture out of my mind… My brother with his hand in-“

He gagged. Allison stepped up to him and gently laid a hand on his arm. “What kind of creature was it?”

Scott shrugged. Stiles answered in his stead, “A shape-shifter.”

Allison and Lydia gapped, exchanged a look and turned to him. “Did you manage to kill it before it murdered anyone else?”

“Almost. It sent one person to Death, but that alerted me that it’s in Beacon Hills.”

“Thank God”, Allison sighed.

Betrayed, Scott shrank away from her. “Allison…?”

Lydia imperiously said, “What do you expect, Scott? A shape-shifter kills for pure joy. It can’t do anything else. It kills someone, then changes shape to look like that person and lets the body disappear. Then, it kills everyone that lives with or near the dead person until the original body is found, it runs out of victims or the cover is blown. Then, it kills someone else, changes and it starts all over again.”

“They have to change once every week, and they can only change into dead people. But there’s strict guidelines about what sort of people it can change into – they can’t be dead more than five minutes before they change, or over or under a certain age, or in holy areas like churches, graveyards and so on. It’s too dangerous to walk into a hospital and wait for someone to die because of the security measures there”, Stiles added, eyes glazed over, sadness in every line of his face. “The poor creatures never know peace, always having to change, never being themselves. They always are so glad when I bring them to Purgatory.”

“They are glad when they are killed?”, Isaac asked disbelievingly.

“Imagine”, Stiles said dryly, “having to change your scarf. But you can never wear the same scarf twice. You almost starve because you have so many expenses for new scarves. Everyone around you wears one same scarf all year long, thus having money to afford food, rent, books, whatever. Then, you come to an area where you never have to change your scarf ever again. Wouldn’t it seem like Heaven to you?”

Silence.

“What a disturbing metaphor”, Peter said.

A beat of silence. Everyone thought the same, but didn’t want to agree with _Peter_.

“Just tell them what they want to ask, but are too afraid to, sweetheart”, Peter suggested after looking in the faces surrounding Stiles.

The pet name was followed by indignant spluttering that both Peter and Stiles ignored masterfully. Stiles sighed and turned resigned eyes on Scott.

“You probably still haven’t understood what being a Death means. It means I kill people. I murder them in cold blood. I have to get up every day and collect three souls. I have to kill two other beings. If I do this for a certain amount of time, I get to choose who I kill. With the wendigo and the shapeshifter, I’m deep in the minus, I must confess. I’m going to be working on that debt for a good few years.”

Peter purred, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll help you.”

“Shut it, creeper.” But Peter could read thankfulness in those brown eyes.

Scott made a noise that sounded remarkably like a dying goose and brought all attention back to him. He looked terrible. His face was pale. His eyes were red. His cheeks were tear-covered. His gesture spoke of betrayal, heartbreak and sadness.

“How could you, Stiles?”, he whisper tearfully.

“What? Send beings to Death?” Stiles smiled gently and put a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Everyone and everything has to die. You know that, Scott.”

“No!” Scott squared his lowered shoulders and straightened up, hitting Stiles’ hand aside. “I don’t get it!”

“What would happen if no-one and nothing died, Scott? I can tell you. Overpopulation. Endless pain. There’d be _more_ sadness, not _less_.”

“You can’t know that!”

“When I was with Death, I had to complete training, an internship of sorts. Every day I was in a coma here, I was taught for a decade there. In the beginning, I also didn’t understand. But then, they showed me. A ‘perfect’ world. No-one dying. Everyone living forever. But children still grew up, turned into adults themselves and had children of their own. They didn’t have enough food a few generations later. But still, no-one could die. They starved, Scott. They starved for a thousand years until a scientist could engineer better plants. The animals were all eaten. Many human settlements turned to cannibalism. But their victims couldn’t die. Viruses and diseases still were around. People lay in the hospitals, trying and hoping to die, to escape their pain. But Death didn’t exist in that world. Do you really want that, Scott?”

“What- I- No- I!”

No-one else knew what to say, either.

Peter let them have their ten minutes of doom, then said, “Thank you for those pictures. All of us will sleep really well tonight, I dare say.”

Stiles snorted, but stood to leave, shrugging out of his bindings as if he never had been bound.

“As if we would sleep any better, my favourite zombie.”

 

Stiles and Peter went to Peter’s flat. The door closed behind them. Peter tucked Stiles under his arm.

“Everything’s alright, sweetheart”, he said. “No need for that sad smell. It was only a phantasy world.”

Stiles turned into his embrace and hugged back. “I know. Humanity is capable of the most inhuman and cruel things. I knew that before I became a Death. I knew that before I saw that. I knew that Death is and should be inevitable. Look at my mother. I met her in Heaven, did I ever tell you?”

Peter shook his head. He slowly walked into the living room. Stiles didn’t seem to notice.

“It was when I went looking for your family, actually. I never would have met her that soon. For me, it’s been almost fifty years since she went to Death, but I still hesitated to meet her again. I forgot her, almost. Buried her so deep in my mind that I would never think of her. I guess I was afraid. I turned out so different from anything she could have expected. And she used to say those awful things before she died, after the hallucinations set in. I wasn’t quite sure if she really meant them. Maybe she somehow knew what I would become. Maybe she felt it, in the way only those seconds from meeting Death know. Maybe she knew that, if she’d had this illness only ten years later, her own son would come and pick her up.” Peter sat down on the sofa, pulling Stiles onto his lap. He went without hesitation. “When she screamed at me to get lost, to go back to Hell where all my brethren are, did she mean me or her hallucinations?” Tears filled his eyes. Peter drew comforting circles over his back. “She hugged me, Peter, and then she cuffed me on the head. She asked me if she’d raised me to doubt her so much. She told me I have no reason to be afraid, and never had. She told me she loved me, that she wished she’d told me more often, that I should come visit her more often. Oh God, I’d forgotten the sound of her voice, the smell of her perfume, the colour of her eyes. I cried so much, Peter, so much.”

Abruptly, Stiles shot up, mortified by something. “Shit! I’m sorry! Now I bet all you can think is that you didn’t have that with your family, and-!”

“Stiles”, Peter interrupted. “It’s okay. I can’t deny that I am a bit envious, but that’s fine. I’ll see them again _someday_. That’s enough for me.” He laughed bitterly. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to see Talia and especially Laura again.”

“You shouldn’t- They told me they don’t hold it against you! There’s nothing you could have done differently! If the victims don’t blame you – and that does include Derek, mind you, and mind the power of communication and forcing it onto your relatives – and the smartest member in your pack -” at this, Peter laughed softly, but Stiles ignored him like the man on a mission he was “- doesn’t blame you, why should you blame yourself?”

Peter huffed. “If I had had a few decades to get over it, it also wouldn’t affect me this much.”

Stiles hummed. “You’ll have your decades before you’ll stay with them. So don’t worry too much!”

“How exactly did we come from your sad and inspirational story of meeting your mother again to my-“

“Unnecessary guilt complex!”

“- yes, sure, let’s go with that.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Your ability to avoid what you don’t want to talk about sometimes astonishes me, sweetheart.”

“Oh, stop it, you’ll make me blush!”

Peter shook his head fondly.

“So, let’s stir this topic into a completely different direction that you won’t like any more, but it is necessary that we discuss it.”

Stiles roused at Peter’s serious tone, looked at his face and groaned. “I don’t want to talk about Scott.”

He hid his face between Peter’s shoulder and neck, but the werewolf showed no mercy.

“You know as well as I do that he can never accept anyone who sends someone to Death, no matter how necessary, no matter how beneficial, no matter how _anything_.”

“I saw his face today”, Stiles mumbled, but Peter’s keen ears caught every word. “I know that today, I’ve lost him for good.”

“Then what’s our next plan? Do we somehow get him to see sense? Send him to meet Death? Convince the others? Simply hide it?”

Stiles leaned back and looked into Peter’s eyes. “I’d suggest to leave.”

Peter blinked slowly, shocked. “You’d leave? Really?”

Quickly, Stiles backpedalled. “We don’t have to! I just thought it’d be easiest! I know these are ancient Hale lands, and that you’re the last Hale living here, and that you were born and raised here. I’d never-!”

Peter laughed gently and rested his forehead against Stiles’. “I would have suggested it myself, sweetheart, if I thought you’d go through with it. What about your father?”

Stiles scoffed. “With the Nemeton healing, Beacon Hills will be less dangerous. Dad is a grown man. Besides, I taught him to behave.”

“What did you do?”

“I informed him that Mom sends her regards. She wants him to finally grow some balls and ask out that woman who ogles him every time he sees her and who he ogles right back. Of course, with divine backing, he almost runs to her. And I talked to him for years! He’ll marry her and be happy and I’ll remind him in twenty years that he could have had that years earlier if only he’d bowed to my superior wisdom.”

“His loss.”

“And then I went around and told every deputy and diner owner and a few other people to mind his diet and remind him of it. Healthy means healthy.”

Peter huffed out another laugh.

“I love you, darling.”

“I know.”

A pause.

A giggle.

A sigh.

“Sometimes, I really wonder what your real first name is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story! I'd be delighted if you gave me constructive criticism!
> 
> Thank you very much for all your comments! I honestly did not expect this to become so popular... Thank you!


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